Dinner Crashing
by Purplebunny444
Summary: One-shot Sherlock finds out Molly's on a dangerous date and goes to help her out. Sherlolly. First shot at writing it, but it's my OTP.


**My attempt at writing a good Sherlolly story.**

The air was whacking him in the face but he didn't care. His curly hair did nothing to protect his neck as it was being blown as well. He'd even lost his stupid hat in his run.

If Mycroft was right, Sherlock would personally kill the man Molly was on a date with. Sherlock hadn't taken a full interest in the situation at hand until his brother had shown him the police record. Three court trials for murder. Sherlock had tried to warn Molly earlier of the fact that his information didn't meet up with the man's attire, but she thought he was being thick.

Now, he was running as fast as his legs could to the little diner at the far end of town. His lungs felt like they were being punched at and his legs were legs. Still, he had to get there before 9'o clock. Or Molly wouldn't see the next sunrise.

Hopping over a cat in the dark streets, he had to whip his arm out and catch a lightpole to stop himself, glad he was wearing gloves. He'd left John three miles short and knew he'd probably stop for a coffee. John hadn't been getting much sleep in the late.

Sherlock scanned the inside windows of the diner. It was very elegant, as predicted. Upper class people were eating their dinners and desserts, talking gossip and other rumors. Whipping the collar of his coat down, still panting, he studied his future surroundings. White table clothes with golden trimming and napkins, black cushioned seats, chandeliers, live violin, piano, and harp music, and silver silverware and glass plates and wine glasses.

In the maze of round tables, he saw her. And him. A cotton white dress shirt under a black dress suit. His eyes were also almost black, the brown blending into his pupil, Sherlock knew from the photos. The man's hair was combed back, some slight white in his brown hair and small beard. This was not the type of man in Molly's taste, and Sherlock knew that as clear as a day.

Molly herself was draped in a crimson dress, and just like everyone other woman in the room, it was a pencil skirt bottom, stopping just above her knees. Her hair was done in a braid and she seemed to be having a good time.

Sherlock took a final breathe and recovered from his run, opening the door of two and easily weaving through the table cloths, his appearance not quite clear to the others, yet.

Molly saw him right from the start, but it took some time for her date, Michael, to catch on. Molly tried ignoring Sherlock. He decided to take matters into his old hands. "Good evening. How are you fairing, Molly?"

That caught the Michael's attention, but Molly only took a sip of her wine. Michael followed suit. Sherlock went on. "I suppose after tonight's...escapade, you'll be in the iron dungeon for good. Do I serve as being correct?"

"I don't believe we've met, my friend." Michael showed Sherlock his hand. "I'm Mi-"

"Michael David. Yes, I'm quite familiar with your name and title." Sherlock rested his hands behind him, holding himself to stand straighter.

"I'm sorry, but do I know you? What do you mean by 'title'?" Michael put his hand down, taking Molly's from across the table.

"Sherlock, why don't you just leave now?" She muttered, her head down, staring at the silver spoon on her platter of chicken.

Before Michael could say anything, Sherlock leaned forward, noses apart from Michael and started his normal evaluation. "Your real name is Michael Lawson. You have two sisters and a brother, all younger and disappointed in you. You've been to jail a total of five times, and you're supposed to be serving your next court term in two days. That will be moved to tomorrow. You have two phones, and one we can assume is a burner phone, and the other your real. But you never have information on your phone. You memorize everything instead of having to risk anything on it, anything against you. Those shoes are your only pair and you make sure to clean them of blood every time, but that doesn't keep it from getting some blood stains. Now, I hope you didn't actually think that you're going to walk away from this diner, tonight, with Molly Hooper. You've done four too many terms in jail, and this will be the one to put you in the cell box for life."

By now, people recognized Sherlock's stance and quick talk, recognizing him as the celebrity he didn't take himself to be, but was well aware of the title. Everyone was staring now, some even recording now.

"Wait," Michael looked in surprise, "are you _the_ Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, yes, now Molly, we really should be going before it hits nine."

Molly sat up, pointing her finger into Sherlock's chest, accusingly. "I don't care if he's a mass murderer, I'm eating my dinner with him and that's final."

"But Molly-"

"No Sherlock. I'm sick of you embarrassing me in front of everyone."

Sherlock took hold of her upper arms, his nose touching hers as he talked. "That pen he has in his suit pocket-it's a gun. With the bullet, it also releases poison which paralyzes you and adds to your pain ten times of the original pain. He can only shoot it at nine. Nine o'clock on the dot."

"Can't I just run at that ti-" Sherlock cut her off with a kiss. His grip tightened and she released a slight gasp but her hands traveled to his neck, Sherlock himself taking hold of her waste. He kissed her until he was nearly light headed, tilting his forehead to hers to signal it was over, both gasping.

"Fifteen seconds left," he whispered. "Fourteen, thirteen, twelve,"

Molly took her black heels off and said, "I'm not staying for one."

"Agreed," he smiled. He turned his attention to the gaping Michael. "You're jail escort will be here shortly. Don't bother trying to run, I have London under lock down. They'll cuff you before you can even try and run." And sure enough, he could hear the cops coming.

He took off, quickly catching up to Molly. Five blocks down and they stopped. Sherlock's phone rang insentictly.

A message from John: Good job, Sherlock. Here's several videos of the 'Sherlolly' scene, as it's been tagged. Very good job Sherlock. Try getting out of this one, or not. This will be interesting either way. Mary is squealing and says, "I knew it would become Sherlolly!" Pretty confident she started that name Anyways, congrats on the accidental Sherlolly moment!

"Sherlolly," Molly said, checking her phone as well. "We're Sherlolly now."


End file.
